


Just A Bad Girl

by Tilltheendwilliwrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Light Dom/sub, Oral, Rough Sex, Sex, Vaginal Sex, Violence, spanking king, тэг заменён на Don't copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 11:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17058686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tilltheendwilliwrite/pseuds/Tilltheendwilliwrite
Summary: You've done something stupid. Really stupid. And Dean isn't happy.





	Just A Bad Girl

## A Dean Winchester x Reader Fic

* * *

****  
Staring at the walls of the dingy, dated motel room, you tug the hem of Dean’s t-shirt down a little further. You’re sitting on the foot of the bed, watching him clean his pistol, the customized silver colt which he’d used only hours earlier to save your life.

It was stupid.

No, _you_ had been stupid.

You’d done the dumbest thing possible. Gone alone after a shapeshifter after they’d left you behind at the bunker. Sure you’d called Dean and Sam when you’d found the articles, but both were busy wrapping up their own case.

Dean had demanded you wait for them, but you didn’t think you could. The shifter had been killing its way through the population of the sleepy little town with startling regularity. You were afraid if you waited even twenty-four hours, there would be another death.

You left all your research out where the Winchester boys could find it, sent Dean a message, and headed for the bar you knew the shifter was trolling.

He seemed to like hot women.

You fit the bill, slutting it up to attract his notice. A job you’d done too well as half the bar had hit on you. You’d played the drunk dumb girl, hanging off people, taking selfies with each new suitor, waiting for the flash of yellow eyes which would give the shifter away.

The night had dragged on. The men had gotten progressively more handsy, but at no time did you catch a flash of yellow eyes.

Eventually, you’d given up, managing to escape the grasping hands. Not before one had pinched your ass, unfortunately. Laughing it off, you faked going to the bathroom before slipping through a back door and out to your car.

Grumbling to yourself about the asine things drunk men thought funny, you’d never seen him coming. The last thing you remembered before waking up chained to a creaky, disgusting single bed, was a reflection in the driver’s window of your car.

The blow had knocked you out cold.

It had thrown you for a loop when you realized who the shifter was. Jeffery, the clerk at the gas station, who looked no older than twenty, had stood over you, grinning. He’d taken your clothes but left you your underwear.  

Not that it did much good. Wasn’t like it covered much, to begin with. A demi bra and high cut thong left little to the imagination. Then, the kid had ripped them off you.

It had been fucking painful, leaving red welts and fabric burn across your delicate skin, but you’d refused to cry. It was what the bastard wanted, after all.

He’d taunted you. Put his hands all over you. Touched you in places you wouldn’t have let him if he’d been the last man on earth, but when he’d started in on his belt and zipper, you’d felt real fear.

Then, thankfully, the door had slammed in, and there stood Dean. Just Dean. At the time you hadn’t known that Sammy had been injured, or that he was sleeping it off back in the hotel Dean had torn away from like a bat outta hell.

One look. One cold, frozen sweep of green eyes was all it had taken to have him drawing the correct conclusion. Before Jeffery could so much as flinch, Dean had put a silver bullet in his head.

He’d placed his jacket over your nakedness, carefully removed the zip ties which bound you to the metal headboard, and picked you up. He hadn’t said a word to you. Not one.

When he’d placed you on Baby’s front seat, you’d huddled in on yourself, adrenaline wearing off, causing you to shake.

You were covered in filth and shapeshifter blood, but it was the vile feel of Jeffery’s hands you couldn’t get away from. It felt like he’d imprinted his touch on you. You were about ready to scream when Dean had pulled up in front of some hayseed motel, miles away from where you had been.

Jeffery had taken you on quite the road trip, apparently.

Dean had gone inside, gotten a room, barely gotten the door open when you were rushing through it, shedding his jacket on your way to take the hottest shower ever.

You’d scalded yourself, scrubbed yourself raw, and sat on the bottom of the tub, crying silent tears of pity and relief. When you finished, you’d exited the bathroom with a towel wrapped around you.

Dean had only pointed to the shirt on the bed as he’d walked past you, slamming the door on his way to his own shower.

He was so mad. He was so furious with you.

You couldn’t blame him, really.

He’d told you to stay at the bunker, and you hadn’t. He told you not to hunt alone. That to do so was stupid.

You hadn’t listened, nearly getting raped and murdered in the processes. You were Dean’s girl, something he reiterated on a regular basis.

He only wanted you safe, but hunting was in your blood. He could dictate all he liked.

You could no more give up the life than he could.

When he’d exited the washroom a few minutes later, you were sat on the end of the bed, waiting for the lecture you were sure was coming. He’d glanced your way, wearing nothing but low slung jeans before heading to the table where he disassembled his colt to clean it.

You watched for a while as strong hands moved over shining metal. It was fucking hot. The man was barefoot, clad only in killer jeans, caressing the gun like it was your skin. You felt terrible about him having to rescue you, but shit, the boy was cleaning his gun.

The gun he’d used to save your life. And he’s right there, feet away, looking like sin with a gleaming silver pistol in his hand. There had been so much bad tonight, no one could blame you for wanting a little good. Even if he was still mad at you.

Maybe you could clear the air and apologize at the same time.

Sliding off the end of the bed, you settle to your knees and crawl across the floor to where Dean was sitting. You’ve drawn his notice, but he’s still giving you the silent treatment he reserved for when he was truly livid. Touching his foot, you glide your hands up his jean-clad legs.

“What are you doing?” he asks, finally acknowledging you.

His voice, the whip of it, a little angry, a little intrigued, gives you a wicked thrill. “Thanking you for saving my life,” you answer in a sultry whisper.

“You should be thanking my gun,” he says, holding out the newly cleaned weapon.

“I can if you like.”

His eyebrow arches, but the weapon drops toward you. There’s heat in his eyes, a subtle knowing.

It’s unloaded, the clip lying on the table still, chamber empty, so you figure, why not. You smile as you kiss the barrel, lick it to the end, close your lips over and suck, all while watching his eyes.

Green sparkles, a smirk appears on his lips. He turns toward you, spreads his knees. “There are better places to suck if that’s what you wanna do with those lips.” He slouches back in the chair, pulling his gun from you and placing it down on the table.

Rising up on your knees, you lightly touch his chest, dragging your nails down gently. There are angry red welts from the zip ties around your wrists, but you ignore them the best you can. Leaning forward, you kiss him just above his bellybutton, licking a path down the happy trail of hair to the open button on his jeans. You find him hard already, viciously so, nudge at him with your nose.

“(Y/N),” he says, warning in the sound. He’s not up for teasing, not when he’s this angry.

Finding the zipper with your teeth, you pull down as your hands dip inside. You cup him, pull his cock free, moaning softly at the sight of him.

He has such a beautiful cock. Thick and heavily veined. It does delicious things to you when he fucks you with it.

Glancing up, you smile to find heavy-lidded eyes watching you, and give his pants a gentle tug. “Lift,” you murmur.

He does, hips tilting, cock jutting toward you. His pants come off with only a little effort. Now, he’s naked before you. Unabashed, unashamed, sprawled in the chair like it’s a throne. One hand is lazily playing with his gun, the other taps out a rhythm on the wooden arm of the chair.

His eyes are hooded, hiding the majority of what he’s feeling from you. They gleam a wicked, sharp green within the narrow opening between long lashes. The cocky smirk has fallen away, replaced by a hard set jaw and slight scowl as his gaze drifts to the welts around your wrist.

“Take off my shirt.”

The command ripples inside you, makes you wet, makes you ache. You reach for the hem, pull it up over your head, place it down on the table.

A hiss leaves his lips. “Stand up.”

Rocking back on your toes, you press up, stand to your feet before him.

His jaw clenches, the flex of it harsh as his teeth grind together. “Shit, baby,” he mutters. Big hands span your waist, drag you forward.

Where your underwear burned you when Jeffery ripped them off, he lays a soft kiss, tenderly touching each welt. His care hurts your heart, brings tears to your eyes.

“Dean,” you whisper.

“You’re in so much trouble, little girl,” he growls against your stomach.

“I know,” you moan when he nips your hip.

“If he’d… done... _that_ to you…” His voice sounds so much like when he’d worn the mark of Cane. Cold, hollow and empty, it chills you to the bone.

“I’m okay, Dean. He roughed me up, but I’m okay.”

His face presses to your stomach as you close your fingers around his nape. Hard hands, rough with the work he does, slide around, grip the cheeks of your ass.

You breathe in, waiting for it, anticipation racing through you.

His hand lifts, swings back, lands a solid smack to your ass which makes you whimper before he rubs it, making you moan. He sighs both resignation and relief.

“I wasn’t sure… if you’d still want… after,” his voice trails off.

“Dean,” you coo, loving the feel of his hand on your ass. When he looks up, you smile. “What games we play, what pleasures we share together, have no basis in what nearly happened tonight,” you say, caressing his cheek. “When you tie me to the bed, or spank me, or blindfold and play with me until I wish to scream, it’s because I want you to. What he did… isn’t the same.”

“He put his hands on you in violence, (Y/N). How can you still want me to…” he shakes his head.

“Because,” you say, reaching for his wrist, “When your hand mixes pain with pleasure, this is what comes of it.” You guide his fingers to the sopping wet folds between your legs.

“Baby,” he groans, plunging his fingers deep.

The action shouldn’t shock you, you invited it after all, but it still makes you gasp. “Dean,” you moan.

“Wrong,” he growls at you, drawing his fingers away. “What’s my name, little girl?”

You smile. His simmering anger has lessened. You’ll likely still feel it at some point tonight, but it will be much more… pleasant now.

He sits back, arches a brow. Looks at you expectantly.

Sinking back to your knees, you place your hands on his. “What would you wish of me… _Master Winchester_?”

The first time you’d worked up the courage to play this game with him, you’d nearly died of happiness when he hadn’t looked at you like you were out of your mind.

Dean liked control. In real life, you were much too pigheaded to let him get away with bossing you around, but in the bedroom, you enjoyed the dominant role Dean took on. Giving in to him in this way pleased you both. What punishments he came up with were always incredibly imaginative, perfect for the part of you which desired a little slap with your tickle, and never more than you could handle. While you wouldn’t classify yourself as a Sub, or Dean as a Dom, you did enjoy role playing the life with him.

It had taken a while to find a name for him which hadn’t made one or both of you snort with laughter. Daddy certainly hadn’t fit. Sir had just been weird. Master had been strange until the day you’d caught an episode of Downton Abbey, looked over at him on the bed and purred out the words _Master Winchester_.

He’d damn near pounced on you.

Again his knees spread as he smirks at you. “You still haven’t put those lips of yours to good use, baby.”

And his cock is still jutting up between his thighs. His ardour for you hadn’t lessened an inch.

When you rub your fingers up his muscled thighs, he jerks, a little ticklish. Coarse hair scratches against your palms. His fingers have gone back to playing with his gun, the other hand threading through your hair.

“Make it good, darlin’, and I’ll make sure you get exactly what you deserve afterward.”

You shiver in anticipation.

Closing both hands around his cock, you caress the velvet skin, twisting your hands around him slowly, gliding over the hard length until your top hand brushes the underside of his crown. A pearl of fluid beads. You lean forward, gently lick his tip, kiss his head, circle the fat ridge slowly.

“Fuck, baby,” he moans. “You’re a cock tease, aren’t you? A naughty girl.”

Pouting a little, you suck on him. Ever so slowly taking him into your mouth.

“Damn…” he hisses. “Or are you a good girl?”

Pressing your tongue to the underside of his cock, you flick the sensitive spot in the way you know he likes.

“A good girl,” he groans, green eyes shining. “Definitely. Still a fucking tease, though.”

Huffing, you sink down on him, taking him deep fast. You nearly choke yourself when his hips jerk. Pressing a hand to the base of his cock, you pull back, making his skin glisten with your saliva.

It sets him moaning. He loved watching his cock disappear down your throat.

You take him on a fast ride, knowing what he likes. Hollowed cheeks and hard suction. Lots of tongue and a touch of teeth. You catch his crown with each upward draw, not enough to hurt, but enough so he can feel it.

He’s grunting, sweating, straining not to thrust. His hand is tight in your hair, but it only makes you wetter. He tugs, sometimes gently, sometimes sharp, keeping up a constant stream of praise.

“Yeah, sweetheart. So good. So fucking hot, baby. You should see yourself sucking on my dick. Fuck that’s beautiful.”

You could have purred like a cat with his praise.

Soon, he’s deteriorated into grunts and moans, low-level fucks. His gun hand joins the other in your hair, and he’s straining. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck! Relax, baby. Relax a little. Take a little more.”

You sigh, throat going slack.

He slides down it with a bellowed roar, spewing swears as he comes with force in your mouth.

Used to the roughness, you hold still, swallow what you can around the length of his cock. Tears burn your eyes as come leaks from the corner of your mouth.

Finally, he pulls back, relaxing the hold he has on your hair. “You’re god damned amazing,” he states, swiping the come from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

You lick it off with a smile.

“Up,” he urges, hands going beneath your arms. He lifts you like a child, but that’s where the resemblance ends.

Reaching for his jeans, he pulls the condom from his pocket, walks over, sits back on the bed against the headboard. “Come here, darlin’.” He pats his thighs.

Kneeling on the foot of the bed, you crawl up it, breasts swaying beneath you, ass in the air, watching Dean bite his lip. Fuck that’s hot. Already you can see his cock twitch.

Again you work your way up his legs, dropping a kiss to each knee, each thigh, his abdomen, his heart. Each nipple gets a gentle flick, a soft suck before you kiss his Adam’s apple, jawline, the corner of his mouth.

His hands go around your waist, and he drags you back and down, so you lay across his lap, ass up. “Spread them legs, baby. Let me see how soaked you are.”

Whimpering, so full of excitement you can hardly breathe, you spread them wide. “Please,” you moan.

His hand slides over your ass, dips down, slips into your wetness. “Oh, sweetheart, look at you. So wet already,” he says, the sound reverent.

Beneath your hip, his cock twitches and thickens. “Please,” you beg again, hollow inside.

“You want it, baby?” he asks, amused as his hand caresses your right cheek.

“Yes,” you moan, quivering beneath his touch, feeling the drag of wet fingers over your skin. The spank catches you unaware when his hand cracks down.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Master Winchester!” you cry out. It comes again, the weight of his palm into the red spot on your ass.

“Better,” he mutters, caressing down, sliding over your opening.

Oh, you know what’s coming. What he’s about, and you practically shake in excitement.

Firm, thick fingers slide over your clit, pull and tweak it. It lifts you up, drives a spike of desire inside you so hard, you cry out. Then, smack, his opposite hand comes down, and the burn begins.

It heats your skin, slowly morphing from pain to pleasure as he drives you up, turns you into a sobbing, writhing mess. Your ass grows hot, your clit swollen, as strike after strike sends a bolt of lust to your core.

“How could such a good girl, my good girl, do such a naughty thing?” he asks. “Didn’t I tell you to stay? Didn’t I say I’d come to help you?”

You can hardly breathe with how your body burns.

“Answer me!” he barks.

“Yes, yes!” you shriek as his fingers slide inside you. They’re too gentle, too slow. He’s tormenting you on purpose. “Please! Please, I need it!”

He leans to the side, hand sliding into your hair as he tenderly pulls your head back. “Only good girls get to come.”

You cry out when he flips you off him, flat to your back on the bed. Tears slide down your temples. You’re so desperate for release you reach for your bud, only to have your hand knocked away.

“What did I say?” he demands, rolling the condom over himself.

“Only… good girls,” you groan.

“That’s right. You’ve been very bad, haven’t you, (Y/N)?”

You nod slowly, a pout on your lips.

He bites it, gently worrying your lip with his teeth. “Pouting ain’t going to gain you forgiveness, baby.” His mouth drops to your throat and sucks a hard hickey into your pulse.

It makes your pussy throb. “Dean…” you whimper.

He only growls and moves to your breasts, sucking more marks into the delicate flesh. His teeth close over your nipple, bite softly, suck gently. His tongue torments you.

You try to rub your thighs together, gain some relief, but his hand thrusts between your legs. Looking down your torso, his green eyes glimmer at you. The anger you thought had gone is still there, simmering into a boil.

“Mine,”  he says, slowly beginning to circle. “You don’t get relief till I’m satisfied you’ve learned a lesson.”

He was playing hardball tonight.

“Yes, Master Winchester,” you whisper.

He hums approval, eyes falling down to the breast he’s tormenting. Switching to the other, you moan and writhe, swearing in Enochian to yourself. He had that angel face, though he was torturing you with the skill of a demon. The choice of language seemed fitting.

Soon he’s moving down, mouth sucking, marking, claiming what’s his. He buries his face between your legs, and you arch up, scream out in bliss when he sucks hard on your overly sensitive core.

Tongue and fingers work you over, play you like a guitar, tuning all your nerves tight until you’re so close all it will take is one more nudge of your clit when everything stops.

“No!” you wail.

“Not a good girl.” He tsks softly to himself.

“I’ll be good!” you sob, bursting into frustrated tears. “I’ll be a good girl! Please! Please let me come!”

He’s looming over you in an instant, kissing your tears away, murmuring soothing words. “Baby, shhh, it’s okay,” he breathes against your lips as he gently guides himself inside you. “Promise me you won’t go alone again.”

“Dean,” you shudder, the game has gone too far. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, sweetheart. Promise me, and I’ll make it all better.” He rocks gently against you.

Mewling out a soft sound, you nod, wrapping your arms around him. “I promise.”

He moves slow, the glide of him through your tight, overly sensitive walls is exquisite. Each thrust is firm but gentle, loving, forgiving. His hands cup your face. His mouth whispers over yours. Sweet words pour from his lips.

“There beautiful. You see how I love you. Take such good care of you, baby. My good girl. My heart.” His lips find their way to your ear. “Sweetheart, you gonna come for me? You can, darlin’, whenever you’re ready.”

“Dean,” you moan, arching into him. “Love you.”

“That’s good, baby,” he says, kissing your cheek. Reaching for your thigh, he pulls it up around his ribs, sinks deeper. “There you go, (Y/N). Just what my girl needs.”

He’s not wrong as the angle has you seeing stars. Scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders, you take a gasping breath as stars become fireworks and you fall into bliss. The orgasm races through you and tears apart your nerve endings and slams them back together.

Sobbing out his name, you feel your walls clamp around his swelling cock before he’s moaning out your name, hips pistoning him through his release.

He collapses on top of you, spent, but his weight is a comfort.

Stroking his sweaty back, you feel more than hear the content sound he makes. “I really am sorry, Dean.”

“Mmm,” he hums, arms sliding beneath you as he holds you close. “Me too, baby. I didn’t mean to push so hard.” He kisses you on the mouth before getting reluctantly off of you.

While he heads for the bathroom, you crawl beneath the sheets, exhausted in body and mind. When he returns minutes later, crawling in behind you to spoon tight your naked form, you turn, shoving him to his back, and sprawl yourself half on top of his chest.

“Back to being bossy, I see,” he chuckles, pulling you in tight.

Smiling, you trace a nail over his tattoo. “How did you find me?”

“Castiel,” he says.

“What? How?” The angel had burned the same Enochian symbols into your ribs he had Dean and Sam’s. No angel should have been able to find you.

“Uh… he may have… modified your runes before embedding them,” Dean confesses.

“Modified… how?”

“Um, Cas can always find you.”

“Dean!” you snap, smacking him in the chest.

“What? You’re my girl! I’d do anything to keep you safe!”

Sighing, you roll your eyes. It was such a Winchester move. “Whatever,” you snort. In a way, it was kind of a relief knowing the in-house angel could keep an eye out for you.

Falling into silence, you let yourself drift, relaxing as Dean does. “Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah, (Y/N)?” he mumbles, half asleep.

“You know promises made under duress aren’t binding, right?” A small giggle escapes when he stiffens beneath you.

“I take it back. You really are a bad girl.”

You laugh as he rolls you beneath him.

**_-The End-_ **


End file.
